


sunday morning, rain is falling

by maidenstar



Series: EFA fic challenges [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, EFA Fic Challenge 2018, F/F, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, feel like i could easily extend this, prompt: rain, the word limit killed me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: College house parties are usually Waverly’s thing, but this one could be going a lot better.Between her friends’ endeavours to score a date and Waverly’s own ex-hookups creeping out the woodwork, the best option seems to be to bury her pride and find a quiet spot to lay low.She quickly finds out that it is raining outside and a cute, red-haired stranger has beaten her to the best hiding space.Just like that, the party has potential after all.





	sunday morning, rain is falling

**Author's Note:**

> So I managed to do my usual trick of finding out about competitions extra really super late in the game and when I'm too busy to contribute properly. The reasons not to enter certainly stack up: no time, no ability to write prompts, not concise enough to tell a story in 4000 words. But here I am with an entry to the EFA fic competition anyway, because I love writing for this ship and always feel the love from EFA (in fact, I only just now realised I'm not following them on twitter when I thought I was - mark me down as embarrassed!) when they mention my fics so wanted repay in a contribution to their competition, even if it is right at the last minute. (Really, it's 1am here - thank goodness for timezones). 
> 
> I'm not really 100% happy with this, but I'm proud I managed to put something together in the space of time I had (really only a bit of Thursday and today) and I really hope you like it and will share your thoughts with me.

It is nearly midnight, and the music has reached rib-rattling levels. 

Waverly can feel the strain of the bass in her chest like an irregular heartbeat, making her feel that strange sort of jittery that combines minor and inconsequential discomfort with alcohol. Heightened response to minimal stimuli. 

It is fair to say she is not enjoying herself. 

This in itself is strange; she is rarely one to turn down the chance to enjoy some kind of bouncy, poppy dance track and an obscure concoction of neon colour and indeterminate contents. House parties are a major perk of student life and especially of life outside Purgatory. You were far less likely to get busted for underage drinking somewhere that had a population of more than a few thousand. 

Regardless, something doesn’t feel quite right tonight, and Waverly finds herself wishing for an escape route. She would much prefer to be in a quiet corner of a student bar. But she had already promised Rosita that she would meet her when the club closes. That way, they can walk home together. 

They live in the same student block, and Waverly had known from the get-go that she would not be buddying up with her roommate tonight. 

Chrissy had been on/off dating the party’s host for the last semester and, tonight, the relationship switch was very much flipped to ‘on’. It was an unspoken arrangement, but there was no doubt that Chrissy would be out all night. 

She and the sort of-boyfriend - dark hair, kind of basic-looking, but actually pretty friendly - had barely taken their hands off each other since the party started. Thankfully, they had then vanished into thin air about an hour in, leaving Waverly on her own. 

Waverly can hardly say she is mad about it, nor can she say that she does not know anyone else at the party; she simply isn’t enjoying herself.

She knows that Jeremy is around somewhere, having improbably accepted Waverly’s invite (Chrissy’s not-boyfriend had said ‘bring whoever you want’, after all). He had ‘spotted’ a cute guy from his CompSci class almost instantly, and suddenly his surprising presence at a house party made sense.

In the interests of being a good friend, Waverly was giving him space to flirt. If he needs a winger he will text, but he is sweet and earnest and objectively pretty cute. Waverly knows he will do just fine on his own, even if he gets anxious in these scenarios.

Outside of absconded friends, Waverly has seen a few classmates around too. Most of them are already pretty much white girl wasted though and (although she has been there herself), she really has no desire to be on hair-holding duty tonight.   

And while she normally has no problem mingling at parties, Waverly knows for a fact that any attempt to leave her cosy spot at the edge of the living room would be fraught with danger. 

Handsy Champ Hardy is definitely around somewhere or other; Waverly knows for a fact he and his cavemen-esque football buddies weren’t invited, but that kind of thing has never stopped them before.

And technically Waverly doesn’t do  _ hiding from ex-hookups _ but in this case she is totally hiding. Champ has a tendency to let his hands wander and to approach in a groin-first formation, as though he genuinely believe it is a winning tactic. 

Waverly doesn’t need that right now. Or ever.

_ You hook up with a guy  _ one time,  _ jeez, _ she thinks to herself with a sigh, sipping at her drink. 

After a few more moments staring around the living room she comes to her decision. She cannot abandon Rosie to walking home alone later (although, in fairness, she’d be scared  _ for _ anyone who bothered Rosita) but she can abandon this non-starter party until it is time to go home. 

She vaguely remembers someone mentioning a backyard and, with firsthand evidence that the smokers are all congregating out front, she can reasonably assume it will at least be quiet for a while, if chilly. 

She has a sweater, though, plus a not insignificant beer jacket, so she decides it is worth the risk. With the conviction of someone who is already slightly tipsy, she heads quickly through the house and finds the back door in perhaps the most obvious place: the kitchen. 

From there, it is a case of inching around two separate games of beer pong (although one group seems to be using the shit-mix-slash-punch instead), which have been set up remarkably efficiently given the contained space. There are no less than four lip-locked couples to contend with too, but eventually she is outside and, initially, disappointed to discover it is raining softly. 

She hesitates on the back step for a moment, unsure as to whether she should give up the ghost and retreat inside. However, it soon occurs to her that the rain will drive most others inside, and there is plenty of shelter to be had at the building’s perimeter. She can simply sit herself beneath the ledge of the roof and the rickety old guttering. 

It is not cold, per se, just damp and slightly chilly, and there are worse ways to pass time. 

(Example: hiding from Champ as he tries to accost her). 

Waverly scans the small garden space, gently illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. It is split almost fifty-fifty between a dirty old patio and an overgrown patch of grass, scattered in true student fashion with all sorts of spoiling flotsam: mismatching fold-out chairs, already soaked through with rainwater and upturned in various positions; two charred throwaway foil barbecues; a traffic cone; and, absurdly, what appears to be a set of bedsheets. 

Her spot, then, would have to be on the uneven patio, even had the weather been fine. It seems to extend around the bend in the house, and the space out of sight from the backdoor looks to be her best bet. The downstairs bathroom is behind that exterior wall, making it a much safer option than trying to crouch beneath a more populated room. 

She is pleased with her plan, advancing around the house and under a shadow where the streetlight is blocked out, she narrowly avoids sliding on a mossy patch on the unkempt stone, and she then proceeds to stumble over something on ground, right by the outside wall. 

Whatever it is, it is completely invisible and proves, to Waverly’s credit, that the spot is a good hideout. 

Her drink sloshes in its plastic cup as she struggles to stay on her feet, heart jolting in surprise. 

Beneath her, a soft voice curses and, because she cannot quite discern the shape of a person down there, Waverly jumps again. 

The voice, at least, has the good grace to sound guilty.

“Shit, I’m sorry! I didn’t think anyone else would come out here.”

From the ground, a phone suddenly illuminates and reveals a woman slouched against the wall. Her left foot is planted firmly on the patio, her knee bent up. Unfortunately, her other leg, the one nearest to Waverly, is stretched right out and had been the source of Waverly’s demise. She notes an ugly splash of dirty rainwater marring an otherwise impeccable red sneaker. 

After a moment in which they stare at each other in relative shock, the girl’s phone goes back to sleep and she is briefly shrouded in darkness again. Then, the screen unlocks with a click and Waverly can look at the stranger again. 

She is pretty, sufficiently so that it strikes Waverly immediately; she has striking red hair that is cropped short and poking messily out from beneath a knitted khaki beanie. She has warm brown eyes and her artfully (but arguably unintentionally) ripped jeans and unbuttoned plaid shirt give her a disaffected, laid back air. It feels genuine and effortless, but entirely out of place with the rest of the party’s crowd. 

“I didn’t exactly expect to find someone else on the ground either,” Waverly admits, suddenly realising she has not yet spoken. She feels absurd, staring down at the girl in silence. 

The beanie girl squints up at Waverly in concern and apologises again. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, making as if to get up. 

Quickly, Waverly gestures at her to stay seated.

“No, please, it’s okay. I’m fine, look - still upright and everything.” 

The girl chuckles and Waverly notes, with no small amount of interest, the ghost of a smirk on her face.  

“Impressive at the best of times with a party like this.”

Waverly nods. “Right? And I think some dudes arrived with like, fifty more cases of beer. It’s only gonna get more wild.”

The girl eyes Waverly with an oddly challenging look on her face. When she speaks again, she raises her eyebrows and pitches her voice in an obvious sense of parody.

“And yet a young and pretty girl like you is out here, drinking alone.” 

“Nice college boy impression,” Waverly replies without hesitation, but feels any further comeback dying in the back of her throat. “But you’re out here too.  _ And _ you’re drinking alone.”

The girl has a beer bottle in her hand, held loosely with her elbow propped casually on that arched left knee. She looks at her drink in feigned surprise. 

“Damn. Would you look at that? I don’t even know how it got there.”

Waverly laughs. “It’s like you slipped and fell.”

Waverly prides herself on being quick and whip-smart but the girl seems faster, as well as daringly self-assured. “I think that was you slipping and falling, wasn’t it?”

Waverly snorts, but cannot think of anything further to say. The stranger, however, continues speaking.

“And you ignored my conditions: young and pretty.”

For a moment, Waverly forgets that they are supposed to be ironic college kids. 

“You’re young,” she points out, “and you’re definitely pretty.”

The words come out on instinct and she immediately feels flushed in a way that has nothing to do with booze. The other girl’s chat up line had been a joke, Waverly just wound up sounding much too genuine. 

She feels a twist of anxiety in her belly. She had gotten too complacent since leaving Purgatory - there was a reason she had waited until she was somewhere less conservative to act on her feelings towards women. It still didn’t mean she could be reckless, however. 

The stranger, however, only seems more interested, sending Waverly a deep look as she takes a slow swig of her beer. It is strange, the way Waverly feels both cool relief and pulsing heat at the same time. 

“Stop it, you’re going to make me blush,” the girl deadpans, her delivery consistently perfect. 

Waverly shrugs, feeling her confidence grow again after its previous ebb. After all, this was the kind of party she could let herself enjoy. 

“That’s no bad thing.” 

The girl tilts her beer bottle at Waverly in a salute, apparently satisfied with the momentary impasse in their verbal exchange. 

The brief silence that follows is gently, pleasantly punctuated by the steady pitter-patter of raindrops falling earthwards. Occasionally, a few drops plonk down from the edge of the roof, sounding discordant and out of time when they hit to loose paving slabs. 

The air thrums with the threat of a summer storm, the smell heady and distinct. It is warm and dewy as it clings to the concrete and earthy and full where water seeps into peat. It is a portent, Waverly thinks, of the lightning that is sure to come. 

It is just that kind of night, Waverly can feel it. 

‘We need a good storm’, everyone had been saying, and they were right. It would be good to clear the dry, dusty air for a while. Waverly had always liked the way water just kept on moving. 

The girl shifts in her spot, shunting sideways and further away from the corner of the patio. 

“It looks like we both had the same plans for tonight. So, do you wanna sit down?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a hiding-spot-invader. I’m sure there’s other spaces.”

Beanie girl shakes her head grimly. 

“No way, there’s barely anywhere else, trust me. But there’s plenty of room for two if I scooch a bit more. I’m pretty sure it’s the least I can do after you nearly stacked it over me.”

The girl pats the space she has vacated and, deciding quickly, Waverly settles on the floor, cross-legged with her solo cup in the space where her ankles overlap. 

The stranger is nice - she is _ definitely _ hot - and even as a stranger Waverly would rather spend time out here with her than with Champ or his friends. 

They shuffle around for a moment, getting comfy, and in the glare of the girl’s phone raindrops glitter on the overgrown grass. The light refracts, throwing colours like confetti. 

When they are suitably arranged, knees just grazing together ever so slightly, the girl speaks again. 

“So,” she draws the word out. “Do hiding-spot-invaders have names?” 

Waverly lets a small smile slip. “They do.” 

“Do they share them with strangers?” 

“Only the really nice ones - ”

“I thought I was young and pretty?”

“ _ Hey. _ You said it first.” 

The girl raises her hands, beer still clutched awkwardly in one. 

“I stand by it. Well, sit.” 

This gives Waverly pause. She hadn’t really expected the flirting to be reciprocated. She swallows a nervous lump in her throat. 

“Well since you know how to give a compliment so  _ nicely _ , I’m Waverly.”

“Waverly,” the girl repeats, like she is trying out the taste of it on her tongue. “I never heard that before. It’s nice - very pretty. I’m Nicole which isn’t as interesting.” 

“Not true,” Waverly says, quickly thinking that the name suits somehow. 

This draws a tiny laugh from Nicole, not scornful or even amused - just an acknowledgement. 

She sips her beer and Waverly finds herself drinking too - something to do with restless hands. 

“So go on then, jokes aside. Why  _ are _ you hiding out here on a Saturday night Waverly?” 

Waverly contemplates her answer for a moment, gnawing at the rim of her cup with her front teeth. Eventually she settles on the truth. 

“Sunday morning, technically,” Waverly corrects, the pedantry an obvious joke. “And my friends ditched me. It’s okay, they’re allowed to hook up.”

“But…?” Nicole prompts as the sentence hangs around them unfinished. 

“But I guess I needed people to help me hide...from a boy. Well, man.” 

“Boy-man,” Nicole mimics with a snort. “That sounds familiar.”

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Waverly clarifies for reasons unbeknownst to her. “Just a hookup, but now I can’t rid of them.” 

“Ah yes, college boys,” Nicole agrees with a chuckle. “Tale as old as time.” 

Inevitably, this sets Waverly to humming the Disney song. Nicole bobs her head in time, pulling at a weed creeping between the paving slabs and turning the dislodged stem over and over between long, slim fingers. 

Neither of them are drunk, exactly, but the lack of inhibition is nice. 

“What about you?” Waverly asks after she finishes the chorus for the second time. “Why are you outside in the rain when you could be partying?”

“I guess it’s just not my crowd. Half my friends flaked but it felt rude to just leave. Plus,” Nicole hesitates and Waverly can almost see her working out what to say. “Okay so I’m in cop school. I know it sounds dumb but these things are starting to feel uncomfortable. Underagers. I’m not going to be  _ that  _ person, obviously, but I figure it’s best if I just keep out of it - plausible deniability, you know? I mean, worst plausible deniability ever, but I’m trying.”

Waverly smiles to herself, the unexpected monologue nice to hear. Nicole’s voice is gentle and soft, blending in with the rain somehow. But it raises a certain issue and she feels a sudden, absurd urge to ineffectually hide her solo cup. 

“Oh dear,” she says pointedly and watches as Nicole’s mouth twitches, as though she knows she ought to be stern but does not really want to.

“Like I say, I’m not trying to be that person and I’d be a hypocrite if I was. I can make the excuse that you are on private property.”  

“Does that mean you’re not going to arrest me, Officer Overage?”

Nicole actually laughs at this, a deep and bubbling laugh; the kind that is unexpected and genuine. She sounds mischievous and almost discordant but it makes Waverly feel oddly pleased with herself to have elicited such a reaction. 

“Well, maybe for drinking that mess.” She nods at the bright blue liquid in Waverly’s cup - it is alcopop-y in appearance, but contains goodness only knows what.

“Oh my God you’re a narc and a booze snob,” Waverly jokes, making a show of fake-shuddering. “What am I doing here?” 

“Enjoying my dazzling company?” Nicole tries. “But seriously though that stuff is too sweet.”

Waverly shakes her head emphatically. “Too sweet is a paradox. You’re missing out.” 

“Nah,” Nicole says, angling herself slightly to better see Waverly, who mirrors the action just in time to catch a pointed look on Nicole’s face. It makes Waverly’s stomach flip over. “I’m sweet enough as it is.” 

It takes Waverly a moment to register that this is really happening; half-tipsy flirting with a really cute girl as they hide away from a cliched college party. 

Waverly worries at her bottom lip, looking at Nicole beneath her eyelashes before she decides whether she is brave enough to do this. 

“Yeah, I kind of guess you are.”

Nicole’s eyes grow wide, and then she smirks again. 

_ Challenge accepted, _ the smile says.  

  
  
  
  
  
  


Time darts quickly by, and the phrase  _ instant connection _ springs to Waverly’s.

Nicole asks Waverly about her major and takes a genuine interest in her History and Sociology classes.

“It’s wishy-washy, especially as I can barely settle on a specific focus. Not like you, with your vocation.” 

Nicole rolls her eyes but her demeanour is gentle and not remotely condescending.  

“It’s  _ interesting _ . I’m boring, walking onto campus on day one and sticking to the same old plan.” 

“Are you kidding me? That makes me super jealous.” 

Nicole dismisses this with a wave of her hand. 

“Nothing to be jealous of,” she says without agenda, but Waverly cannot help but disagree. Nicole’s eyes shimmer when a streak of distant lightning finally heralds the start of the promised storm. 

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Waverly replies, tongue growing looser. “Plenty to admire, though.”

“Keep on like that and you really  _ will _ make me blush.”

That, Waverly thinks, is kind of the point. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


At one-thirty Champ drunk dials her. 

She rejects the call and then she rejects the next five that follow. 

Eventually, Nicole picks up the phone for her and in her most authoritative police officer voice threatens Champ with all sorts of almost official-sounding ‘this constitutes harassment, you ass’ type language. 

They have continued drinking (Nicole had a few extra beers in her rucksack and Waverly will drink the stuff in a pinch) and the whole thing is far funnier than it should be. 

Apropos of nothing, Waverly stops laughing and switches subjects.

“Do you like the rain?” 

Nicole stops to consider the question. 

“I do, yeah, sometimes.”

It is certainly coming down thick and fast now, keeping everyone else inside. They have only been disturbed once, when the back door opened to allow a drunk kid to yell outside, directing some sort of pointless and unintelligible cry out to the ether. 

“I do too.” 

Waverly watches the rain stream out of the gutter in great swirling rivulets. It is close enough that she can dip her fingers under the jets of water. 

“Do you ever get the urge to just...step out under it when it pours down like this?” 

Nicole’s eyes narrow in suspicion and Waverly finds herself laughing again. 

“No  _ silly _ . I’m not about to shove you under it.” As she says this, she splashes rainwater at Nicole, accidentally sending much more over her jeans than intended.

Very slowly, Nicole puts down her beer. 

“Oh it is  _ on _ , and I hope you know I won’t take mercy on you because we’ve only just met.”

  
  
  
  


 

It turns out that an impromptu and overly flirtatious water fight is a terrible idea when your average body temperature is as low as Waverly’s. 

She tries not to show how cold she is when they finally call it a day and sit back down, worried their commotion might draw others outside. 

At this point, neither is especially bothered about hiding from the party. Rather, they feel quietly content in the other’s company, already half-aware of where this is all heading. This is a college party after all, and they have spent the better part of two hours flirting and laughing. 

They have shown remarkable restraint, Waverly decides. So much restraint, in fact that Waverly is starting to wonder if she has misread the mood entirely. 

But then, just as an insistent Nicole leans in close to drape her jacket around Waverly’s shoulders, they are suddenly plunged into unexpected darkness. With the temporary loss of one sense, the others seem to overcompensate. Suddenly the rain grows louder, mingling in with the sound of Nicole’s breathing, something Waverly hadn’t properly perceived until that moment. If Waverly isn’t much mistaken, the smell of rain grows stronger too. 

Nicole moves beside Waverly, bumping their legs together as she checks on her phone. 

“Damn, my battery died.”

Nicole sounds less than upset about it, and remains close under the pretence of straightening the jacket around Waverly’s shoulders. 

Waverly knows a come-on, albeit a gentle one, when she sees it. 

It is so gentle in fact, that when Waverly hesitates long enough to think to herself,  _ finally! _ , Nicole goes to draw back, disappointed but completely accepting of the outcome.

Waverly’s mind is already made up, however, and she may not have done this a whole lot of times in her life, but she knows what comes next.

She catches Nicole with a hand laid softly on her cheek, drawing her close again. Their eyes meet for a moment, passing each other in their greedy attempts to drink the other in. Waverly can feel the soft, warm puffs of Nicole’s breath against her lips and it has been a while since her last party hookup (Champ, unfortunately), but she can already feel the hot coil of anticipation in her belly, quivering outwards. 

Nicole brings a hand up to rake through Waverly’s hair, her short nails scratching  _ just right _ on Waverly’s scalp and sending a fresh wave of shivers through her.

Nicole smiles at this, and Waverly finds herself drawn forwards as if by a string, almost desperate to kiss the sweet curve of Nicole’s mouth, to run her fingers over the tiny dimples in Nicole’s cheeks. 

And just when the moment finally arrives, Waverly’s phone sounds and Nicole presses their foreheads together with a groan.

“I’m going to kill that dude.”

But as Waverly fumbles with her phone, she realises that it is not Champ after all. She flashes an apologetic look and accepts the call.

“I’m outside, as promised, and it’s absolutely pissing it down so please don’t bail on me.”

Waverly loves Rosita. She also kind of hates her too. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“So I know this is probably kind of presumptuous - it’s just a party after all - and you’re gonna be nonstop busy with your literally 800 ideas for various cool History papers but could I maybe get your number?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“How was the party?” Rosita asks, completely innocently and Waverly understands that the interruption was not her friend’s fault. 

“It was okay, nothing special. Much better towards the end.” 

Rosita picks up on the undercurrent in their conversation and flashes Waverly a wry look as they fall into step, sheltering under her umbrella as the lightning abates but the rain stays constant.

“Anything you want to share?”

Waverly takes a breath. 

Where to begin? 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, thank you so much for reading! Now I can go off and read some of the other (much better!) entries. Well, I'll sleep first. 
> 
> I'm still getting feedback on my mummy au, for which I am truly grateful. I'm working on some original stuff atm, but do have another AU planned out and vaguely started so I want to get that out ASAP for you guys. (Remember when I could actually write in canon fic? Me neither). 
> 
> Anyway, that is all for now. Thanks once again for reading and I hope I get to see your feedback. Until next time, take care!


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